A lone figure stands, weeping, on the edge of the Ben Franklin Bridge on a dark and cold December night in Philadelphia. He looks down into the dark abyss as the wind and snow whips his Gucci suit around his pasty body. Wiping away tears, Sam Hinkie, GM of the Philadelphia 76ers, loosened his grip on the bridge cables, ready to make one last final plunge into the Delaware River.

“What are you doing there friend?” A voice says from the sidewalk. Hinkie looks down and sees a kindly old man wearing a cotton winter coat and fedora, looking up at him with a strange smile on his face.

“I’m….not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going to end it all. This world doesn’t need me, this city doesn’t need me. The fans hate me, the NBA made the organization hire someone that is going to take away all my power, my process isn’t going to last…everyone….everyone would be better off if I wasn’t here! If I had never been in any of their lives,” Hinkie said, crying again.

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